


golden hour

by pigeonsatdawn



Series: fragments of hope [1]
Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, That's it, i am now officially your local fluff dealer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: At one time, when the rain has receded and the clouds have dissipated, Kieran White allows himself to fall for the sight of Lauren Sinclair.At one time, there will come a promise of a new beginning.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Series: fragments of hope [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040089
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	golden hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Constellalune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constellalune/gifts).



> thank her for me writing this. (it's funny i post this because i have so much kywi in store, because idk a lauki anymore, but oh well. a promise is a promise.)
> 
> this also passed elle_rain's fluff screen, so i can assure you this is completely safe to read. no tears, no heartbreak. enjoy.
> 
> ...  
> hoWWwWwWW tHe FuUUUuuuuUuuu does One start a freaking fic—

**AT ONE TIME,** when the rain has receded and the clouds have dissipated, Kieran White allows himself to fall for the sight of Lauren Sinclair, perched atop a balcony with poiseful grace, staring off into the melancholy beauty of the evening garden. He does not want to ruin the picturesque image, drinking in it the way the young lady is admiring the view before her. 

It is an ethereal moment. Much like the approaching sunset, it is ephemeral; blink, and he will miss it. So he keeps his eyes trained on it a minute too long, not minding the world that surrounds him in that moment in time. Lauren Sinclair has that effect on him, to make him mindless on the world, and drunk solely on the glimpse of her that he does not get to see often.

He does not have a pencil and paper in hand, so he tries his best to commit the picture in memory. And though he keeps a mental note to recreate the masterpiece of a remembrance on paper when he gets home, he knows that he does not have the aptitude to replicate the vibrant colors in which she seemed to bask, to glow under. For the sun is not friend of Kieran White; he is more often accompanied by the glaring silver of moonlight.

He thinks it is worth trying, anyway. Lauren Sinclair is always worth trying for.

“Are you just going to keep staring from afar, or are you going to call out anytime soon?” Kieran blinks, and realizes he has trapped himself too long in a frame that has passed. Lauren has taken notice of him, and she does not seem to be very much bothered by his starking presence, in contrast to the sheer pristine of the neighborhood. Alas, Kieran himself has, for a while now, learned how to blend with people of all kinds. (It comes as part of his job resume. He does not quite know how to feel about this. It is, like most things, a double-edged sword.)

An amused smirk spreads slowly across his lips. “Are you just going to keep watching from your balcony, or are you going to come down at one point?” he retorts. “You belong with the garden, my love.” 

Lauren scoffs, but her soft smile betrays her true emotions. Kieran melts at the sight. Lauren has that effect on him. Even the slightest shift in her muscles can set his heart ablaze in so many different ways.

They set into motion; Kieran walks to her front door, as Lauren skips airily down the stairs in her flowy dress. She is the one to open the door, not any of her maids, not her uncle. She greets him with a playful smile on her lips, and wraps her small, pale hand around his wrist, dragging him through the house. They reach a door, and Kieran has suspected where it leads to, before she opens it and reveals a painting he has never dreamed to see out of his dreams.

It is a canvas of golden skies and grassy green, with accents of colors throughout. White, pink, purple, red flowers line the garden in an orderly mess; a manner that is admirably that of nature. They are well tended, but Kieran, who has played host to loneliness for a time too long, knows that these flowers have been without company for long. He takes a while to admire the flowers, thinking of each of their meanings as he passes by each. Lauren is jumpy on her feet, walking ahead of him, before twirling to see what he has been doing.

“This was my mother’s garden,” Lauren tells him. He turns to see her, smiling wistfully upon reminiscing old memories she spent in the garden. Kieran can tell it has been a while since she visited the garden, from the way she seems to be thinking about the garden more than being in it. But not only that—as beautiful as she is, he can see that the garden has long since been abandoned as her home. Lauren has turned rough over the years, pressured by the harsh realities of the ever decaying city. Among the flowering plants, Lauren stands like a diamond, unharmed by the changing seasons, the varying weathers. But her root is still in the soil, and the ground is still where she belongs.

“It’s beautiful,” Kieran tells her truthfully. She beams, and the expression on her face is as bright, if not more, than the warm glow of the setting sun. He cherishes the sight; he does not want to lose it by prying more than he should, so he keeps silent, choosing to wait for her to share, if that is what she wants. Until then, he decides to continue observing the wide array of flowers.

He, himself, has long since lazed around the fresh air of flowers and felt the damp morning dew on leaves. But he has done his fair share of reminiscence. He no longer falls unwillingly to the bittersweet memory of pleasurable days. Looking at Lauren, however, makes him long for better days. Better days spent with _her_ , perhaps. 

Lauren sits herself on a bench, shaded in fractures by a willow tree. Kieran walks up to her, and when he is facing her, she says, “Do you have a favorite flower?”

Kieran raises an eyebrow, pausing. Lauren explains, “I doubt purple hyacinths are your favorite.”

“Why’d you think so?”

Lauren tugs on his sleeve very lightly, but the gesture, along with her genuine pleading expression, is enough to compel him to join her on the bench. “I mean, if it really is as you say that they represent a mockery to the Royal’s emblem, then I doubt you like it very much. But also… I don’t think you like to associate yourself with the Purple Hyacinth all that much.”

Kieran does not want to look at her when he says, “Lauren, I _am_ the Purple Hyacinth.”

But Lauren is not so willing to let him believe in that. So she says, “You’re forced into the image of the Purple Hyacinth. But that is not _you_ , Kieran. I know you, and I know you’re better than the man you believe yourself to be.”

Kieran tries to look at her, but his neck has stiffened from fear. He does not dare allow himself to believe in an imagination, so he focuses on what he can see: the sun has begun to lower, and splashes of purple have begun to appear at the higher layers of the sky. The half moon glows brightly on the other side, in tandem with the sun, a ravishing rarity, a sight vastly appreciated. If he focuses enough, he could even begin to make out a glimpse of the distant stars in the black expanse of the galaxies above, though he could very well be dreaming.

“Hey,” Lauren says, slightly annoyed, though her voice is not shrill. “I want to know who Kieran White is. You know what, I’ll go first. My favorite flowers are daisies. They mean—”

“Innocence and purity,” they say together, voices overlapping in harmony. Lauren looks at him in surprise, but he only looks at her nonchalantly. “You know of flower language?” Lauren asks in curiosity.

“Sparsely,” Kieran admits. “I didn’t just choose to leave purple hyacinths… for nothing.”

Lauren raises her eyebrows, but does not question him further. She then seems to notice the shifting skie, and points it out in glee: “Hey, the sky looks very pretty right now. And you can see the moon and sun in the same sky. Funny, considering it had been raining earlier.”

“You look like the kid who would totally play in the rain,” Kieran comments. “I’m quite surprised you didn’t, really.”

“Do I look like such a depressing girl?” Lauren asks genuinely.

“Only a little too melancholy, with your head buried way too deep into your past.”

It somehow brings out a laugh from the supposedly melancholic girl. He supposes he, too, has an effect on her with his witty humor, though he knows it is not as profound as her effect on him is. He hopes she doesn’t know of it, but Lauren is not just full of beauty, but is also empowered through her intellect. 

Lauren, before he realises it, has begun playing with his hair. It is untied now, and she has split his thick, long hair into two parts, and is working on the right side, the side closer to her. “So tell me about the flowers you know of. Start with your favorite,” Lauren says soothingly, running her hands through the knots in his hair.

“I…” Kieran glances at Lauren though the corner of his eye, and sees her wide aureate orbs, focused on tying up half his hair above his crown. “Are you tying my hair in—”

“Space buns, yes,” Lauren cut him off lazily, tying the bun with his hair tie. “Go on, don’t mind me.”

Kieran sighs, but keeps his eyes on hers. It is interesting, that his favorite flower just so happens to be the color of her eyes. “Daffodils are my favorite,” Kieran tells her quietly, watching the pink deepen into purple, the sun turning orange. Then—

“Hey, Lauren, look.” He points to the space between the sun and the moon. Shrouded amongst the clouds that remain is a beautiful arc of colors, blending in order. 

“A rainbow,” Lauren gapes in awe. “Wow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one.”

Kieran nods slowly, appreciating the rare view. A sight that, if he sees a moment too late, he might miss. He gets lost in time as he stares, and does not realize Lauren has moved to his other side to tie up the other half of his hair. “New beginnings,” he says in a trance.

Lauren finishes up tying his hair, wrapping it with her own hair tie. “Hm?” Lauren hums, shifting her gaze between his and the rainbow. 

“Rainbows. Daffodils.” He turns to look at her, and though their faces are too close, he does not pay it any mind. “New beginnings,” he says, looking into her golden, pensive eyes.

Lauren Sinclair is as good of a new beginning as he can take. Kieran does not ask for much from the gods; he knows this moment cannot last, that he will not have much time with Lauren Sinclair. He will have to part ways with her one day, and he hopes that it is not by force; he hopes he does not miss the beauty of the miracle that is her presence by being too caught up in the world around him. But he knows also that he cannot drown himself in the poetic sign in ignorance of the beginning itself. 

Lauren Sinclair is beautiful, ethereal, but very much ephemeral. She will not stay, and he must not hold her back.

The sun has now set under the horizon, the sky a flat gradient of blue to obsidian. Stars twinkle across the night sky, and moonlight shines fractured through torn clouds. Lauren’s eyes are still glowing gold. She tucks a stray lock behind his ear, failing to mask her smile as she admires her work of art. She looks at him with much fondness, but Kieran does not deserve such a gaze.

He rests a hand under her jaw softly, before pulling her closer. He brushes his lips against her eyelid, causing it to flutter close. 

He does not dare look at her expression. He does not dare find out if he _does_ have an effect on her, if what he does can make her smile waver, knowing they will have to part one day.

When he pulls apart, he sees that her eyes are squinted shut still. He leans his forehead against her. They remain as so as time elapses, lost in the winds carrying the breadth emotions, breaths mingling in the silence of the night.

At one time, there will come a promise of a new beginning. The promise remains, but the sign does not last. And yet—while the sign is always painfully beautiful, it cannot be guaranteed that the new beginning is as extraordinary as they say.

_The sign makes you want to believe, anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> lmao what is a short author's note i do not know her—
> 
> watch me defy all laws of nature to write and post this fic (one of those laws being the law of canon; and another is the law of all-fluff-turns-to-angst; one more: the i-haven't-read-anyone-else's-fic-but-watch-me-post-this-with-nerve-anyway; but also the i'm-not-even-done-with-my-other-ongoing-fic)
> 
> long story short, i have serious issues.
> 
> ok so maybe i lied a little there is 0.2% of angst in here, but it's irrelevant because i gave you pretty skies, sun and moon coexisting in one sky, space effing buns, rainbows, flowers, eyelid kisses— bruh i'm literally just force feeding you all sugar at this rate. now **_thank me_** or else.
> 
> first: massive apologies to all of you who are authors who have uploaded fics which i haven't read, because i have a bad case of i can't read while i'm in the middle of writing something, in fear of accidentally plagiarizing ideas or even writing style. (and finals, but am ignoring that too at the moment.) i'm binging at least 30 fics when this all is over and done with. 
> 
> another apology: for what could be bad writing style of this fic. wrote this in the a.m.'s, where i seem to have gorgeous ideas but terrible writing skills. and another one: for the next chapter of [silent nightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347425/chapters/66819487) that would either be crap or a tad bit too sad.
> 
> last but not least: thank you for reading! comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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